Tis the Season

So the big holiday is almost here. I laid the xmas presents out on the table for wrapping. That’s where they are now. Not wrapped, but they are ready to be wrapped. I have paper somewhere. It’s leftover from last year. There should be a bin downstairs with gift bags and wrap. I’ll check tomorrow. Or maybe I’ll just wrap some tissue paper around them. I’m sure I have ribbon somewhere. 

We need to make a grocery list I told my husband. And we have to make a trip to the bank. It’s a bloody nuisance not having a bank within a thirty-minute drive. That’s just one-way. So considering the wait time in the bank, we’re looking at an hour and a half to pick up some cash. There’s a grocery store next door to the bank I reminded my husband. We’ll get it all done in one trip. He agreed and suggested I might like to take a drive over the next couple of days. We need a plan, I said, as I returned to my nest with a fresh coffee. He agreed and went back to his renovation job in the basement. 

We’re skipping the big xmas meal for a relaxing afternoon with appetizers. I jumped all over that idea. I’d be happy to bring some delectables. There are so many great recipes now, I crowed. Bacon wrapped brussel sprouts. Even the kids love brussel sprouts in this family. Everyone agreed that they sounded good. I poured over the online sites showcasing party hors d'oeuvres and spent a couple hours reading recipes from Turkish figs and walnuts to mini corn dogs with cranberry mustard…  

Worn out from the exertion, I decided to put some frozen meatballs into the slow cooker and mix up chili sauce and grape jelly. If it was good thirty years ago, it’ll be good now. Right? Let’s not experiment. And who doesn’t love meatballs? 

Hubby and I mentioned our recipe for chicken sliders. Really tasty and simple to make. We could assemble them at home and rather than take up a lot of room in their fridge, keep them in the car until we pop them into the oven. It would certainly be cold enough outside. They wouldn’t get soggy, right? Oh, maybe we’ll just stop on the way and pick up a cheese ball. A box of crackers. Who doesn’t love a cheese ball?

Get Away to Write

If I were to plan the perfect writing getaway, it would include rain. You can’t plan the rainy weather but I take advantage of it whenever possible. I’m more prolific listening to a downpour or even a steady drizzle. Not a pluviophile? Maybe warm breezes on a sunny day would work its magic for you.

 The next most important consideration when planning a retreat is nourishment. I like to eat. Especially when I’m writing. Not so much when my fingers are pounding the keyboard, but during that time when they’re suspended above the keyboard and I’m thinking through a plotline. Food really helps with that process. You too?

I’m not a junk food eater. No thanks to potato chips and dips, and those sour peach slice chewy things. Okay, but only one. I prefer to have readymade salads on hand. And ciabatta bread! If I forgot everything else and just had ciabatta bread, cheese, and wine, I would survive. Flourish, actually. Going over the contents of my fridge in my mind, I see fresh fruit and veggies washed and ready to eat as I research gunshot wounds, or cafes in Paris...oh, to see my browser history.

Coffee, too, is a priority. Water is another, and that’s usually my go to in the afternoon. But not late afternoon. No, in the late afternoon, I take a meaningful break. Time for a plate of crackers and hummus or cheese – extra old cheddar or goat cheese, heck even peanut butter in a pinch, and a glass of red wine. No wine for you? I’m sure you can come up with a substitute. 

Then I like to sit outside and listen to the rain – if it’s still raining – and you can lie on the grass and look up at the clear skies or better yet, rolling clouds – those fluffly white ones, not the dark rain clouds. Ruminate on the plots, character, and dialogue until you’re ready to get back to the keyboard.

For me, a retreat produces more words than I could accomplish at home. Think about it. No distractions. No rules. If you’re planning a getaway, remember to eat when you’re hungry, whatever food you want – don’t look at the clock. I had greek pasta salad one morning before ten and toast near midnight. Keep in mind, there are no calories when you’re writing. I know. At first, I found that hard to believe, too.

Sleep when you’re tired, and when you wake up, start writing. You’re still in the zone. It doesn’t matter if you’ve slept for two hours or six hours. Again, don’t look at the clock. And don’t worry about getting ready for bed. You’re writing in pj’s anyway.

You’re always ready. That’s the other great thing. You don’t worry about appearances on these solitary retreats. No one is going to ‘drop by’. And if you’re away, it doesn’t matter who sees you traipsing around in your flannels. They shouldn’t be looking in the windows anyway.

Think of what it would take to open the door of imagination for you and stir the creative juices. Three or four days are usually the max for me to be holed up writing and still come out fairly civilized in the end.

If you’re able to hide away from people and schedules for any period of time to focus on writing, I highly recommend it.

Mother's Day Suggestions from Mom

Every newspaper ad, radio commercial, and Facebook post is focused on Mother's Day. I thought I'd jump on the bandwagon. Here's an abridged version of a column I wrote for First Monday a few years back. In case you're still floundering about what to do, these are some heart melting ideas for Mom.

If the gift you had in mind for Mother’s Day has to be watered or dusted, think again.  That might not be Mom’s preference.  When asked to think back on their most memorable Mother’s Day, the mom’s I surveyed insisted the day did not involve flowers, jewellery, or candy!  As Debbie so aptly phrased in her response, ‘material goods are just clutter that distracts us from what’s really important’.

If your last one-on-one dinner with Mom was The Dairy Queen in 1981, it is time to book a reservation for two.  Discuss current movies, your favourite books, new hobbies... 

As for a meaningful gift, a framed picture of you with your siblings would be a winner.  Trust me on this.  It’s in the survey.  Also, Barbara mentioned personal artwork.  Exert yourself.  It will leave a lasting impression.  

Remember when you were a kid?  A piece of paper with waxed crayon scribbles hung on the fridge for a month.  Hearts melted over a few dandelions clutched in a grubby little fist. 

What?  You’re not a kid anymore?  Well, your Mom is still your Mom.  A handwritten letter or card would mean more to her than a Hallmark.  Memory boxes around the world embrace handwritten poems and homemade cards.  Susan attests to that. 

Before you ask your secretary to call the florist, think about picking Mom up at lunchtime and heading to the fry truck under the bridge.  Time is our most precious commodity.  Go for a walk together along the river.  Tell her how much those outings meant to you as a kid.  Stop at the florist on the way back and present her with a fragrant bouquet.  She will love you for it.

If your mother has passed on, perhaps a spray of white carnations on your table or desk would be a lovely tribute in her memory. 

Another suggestion from my survey involved a tour of the old neighbourhood.  Recollections flood back with a stop at the corner store for a cold drink and ice cream.  A nice way to say thank you for a great childhood.

An idea that sounds great to me is hosting a dinner party or luncheon for Mom and her friends.  I don’t think she would mind if you hosted the meal at her house.  Be sure to set an attractive table–it’s all in the presentation−and do the cleanup.  Not a cook?  Order Chinese and break out the chopsticks.  Now, that is a memory maker.  It’s the thought, the time, and the sincerity that counts.  Be original.  Mothers like to feel special and coddled.

If it is impossible to be together to celebrate Mother’s Day, make time for an unhurried phone call or skyped visit. 

However you honour your mother on her special day, please do not hang up the phone, do not disconnect skype, and do not drive away from the house, without telling her what she already knows but never tires of hearing... I love you, Mom.

Happy News for this Writer

Is that a drum roll I hear??

Okay. Here it is…I would like to announce the upcoming release of…  Wait for it…Wait for it… my first published novel!!!

Yes, my friends, it’s finally happening. A publisher, who called my book ‘wonderful’ (just saying) is releasing my first novel for you and the entire world to read.

Boom! That’s what I’m talking about!!, as my granddaughter Sadie says. She does this cute little arm pump thing that I’ve never mastered. Anyway…

Sure, it was exciting to see my short stories published over the years. It was. But novel writing is what makes my heart beat a little faster. All those characters. All those lives intertwined. Unfolding their history and foreseeing their future. Sounds like a power trip when I say it like that. At the very least, controlling. Hmmm… I’ve completed two other books and have two more that are nearly finished. To have a novel go to press has encouraged me to continue doing what makes my heart smile.

And who is the publisher, you ask. Well, they’re in the States. Delaware, to be exact. Devil’s Party Press celebrates the mature author. Fortunately, I’m over forty. Ahem. Otherwise, I wouldn’t meet their criteria, as much as they like my work. And it appears they do. I feel good about my relationship with the folks at DPP. We’ve never personally met but they respond promptly to emails (that’s huge), and their professional demeanor while working with them on my accepted short story for the crime anthology ‘Suspicious Activity’ impressed me. Did I mention they won seven awards last year for their work? I’m fortunate to be an author on their roster.

February 2020 is the projected release date for ‘Old Broad Road’. To some, the release date seems a long way off but to me it’s frighteningly near. Anyone who’s had a book published knows the preparatory work involved. I took a break from writing my column for First Monday so I could focus. Also, I have a sequel to this book that I’m currently polishing.

With a deep breath and auditory sigh, I embark on the next leg of my writing journey.

Paranoia, Cabin Fever, or Reality Check

My every move is being watched and recorded. And it’s freaking me out! 

I research living room drapes on my computer and by the next day sponsored ads are EVERYWHERE. I’m inundated with furniture ads. Rugs and runners. Give it up. Leave me alone!

Doing research for my novel is stressful. Normally, I love the research – but not now. Checking out resorts and fly-in lodges for my story leaves me swamped with ads for inns, resorts, and lodges all across Canada. And sure, while I’m at it, I check out spots for a Valentine’s getaway. Ads with heart-shaped bathtubs are plastered across my screen for a week. I peer to see if that is actually me in the tub. It isn’t. But it wouldn't surprise me.

It’s really getting to me. I have more ads on facebook than I do friends!! 

More research is required for my crime story. I can put it off no longer. Prisons – the how to and the what to of visiting a prisoner, where might a certain crime or sentence land a prisoner, medium or maximum security, and I even check videos showing the inner workings of a prison. I need to know.

The search engine used to be my biggest ally and now I cringe every time I key something in. I feel as if I should send a note to the RCMP telling them I’m a writer. Just a writer wanting to get the

details perfect. And by the way, the hitman I referred to is in my story. But don’t worry, he was caught, and so was the guy who hired him. I tell you, I’m just the writer.

Someone online told me to check my privacy settings. I did. But I don’t understand. Nothing seems foolproof. I can delete my browsing history but that sounds like closing the gate after the horses are out. I could search incognito and it doesn’t show up in my history, but isn’t that like sounding an alarm that I’m searching something illegal or harmful? I guess I am, sort of. But I’m just a writer I tell you.

Memories Evoked by Throwback Picture

                                                                                                                       

A throwback picture on facebook this morning showed ‘the girls’ arm in arm like a trio of happy musketeers – smiling like they knew something no one else did. Knowing them, this was probably the case. Their eyes reveal mischief and fun. Especially the older two. The teasing and pranks they played on each other tug at my memory like a collection of disjointed snatches of laughter and a

Eileen (L) Marion (C) Doris (R)

flurry of activity. I was the baby and so don’t remember witnessing first hand some of the earlier shenanigans but I do recall the family reminiscing about a few calamities.

One that stands out in my mind was the time the older one, Marion took a love letter from Eileen’s dresser drawer. They were just better than a year apart in age and they hung out like best friends and carried on like sisters. Their love for each other never interfered with a chance to torment.

Apparently, Marion proceeded to read this letter to whatever family members happened to be in the kitchen at the time. Eileen fairly flew out of her chair and Marion ran from the house waving the letter in the air. Screaming could be heard up and down our street as the chase ensued. Mom would shake her head. ‘Those girls’, she’d say. I heard that story so often I can see it happening.

Seeing the picture of ‘the girls’ this morning sent me back to the time our mom passed away. I was still living at home. There are two vivid memories of what we found going through her belongings. One involved ‘the girls’ – Marion, Eileen, and Doris.

I’m not sure why this first one has stayed in my memory house all these years but when we were going through her belongings, we came upon dozens of nylon stockings – not pantyhose – single stockings that were held up by garters. Nearly a drawer full. I knew immediately why this collection of stockings with runs and snags had been saved. It was her stash. Much like the trunk of wool I now have in the downstairs storage room. Mom braided these stockings into rugs. Soft, warm, and durable, we had several throughout the house. Again, I’m unsure how this stash has stayed prominent in my mind. Maybe because I had the answer to what seemed a puzzle at the time.

The other significant discovery is more understandable.

It wasn’t so much the shiny gold clutch purse as what it contained. All purses were checked for content before discarding. Mostly they held change for the bus, tissues, perhaps a nearly finished tube of red lipstick. But inside the gold clutch was an envelope. The words ‘For the Girls’ scrawled across the front. Though there were five girls in the family, we all knew she’d always referred to the three oldest in the family as ‘the girls’.

It’s an interesting concept. So many years ago, an envelope tucked inside an evening bag was discovered and passed on. Today would we be so careful inspecting everything left behind? If I left a note tucked inside my favourite book, or the inside pocket of my best jacket, or forever loved sweater, would it be discovered and passed on. Of course not. These days, our possessions don’t hold the same value and we have so many ‘things’ for family to dispose of that there’s never enough time to go through everything. And, let’s face it, it’s a painful process.

I thank my niece for posting this throwback picture on facebook this morning and for my time travel excursion. Two of ‘the girls’, Marion and Eileen, have passed on but the memories remain.

New Year Reflections

For me, bringing in the New Year begins with a reflection on the past year. A life-changing year. For more than a couple of decades, in a labour of love, our rural property took on a park-like atmosphere with numerous species of trees. The perennial gardens ranged from flowering bushes and riotous colour to calming green gardens of fern and hosta. We decided to sell our home (gulp) and make a move. It was time. Life is about change and renewal.

Leaving our rural area awakened us to new experiences, introduced us to community living, congenial people, and a fresh outlook. We moved far enough away that the area is all new to us but we’re close enough to keep in contact with long-time friends. I am content – happy even.

Sometime during all that packing and moving and changing, I’d decided to limit my writing to personal pleasure. Over the past ten years, I’ve had moderate success with my short stories, but my writing threatened to become all-consuming. Not just the writing, but the writing life. Organizing workshops, retreats, meetings, dinners. Actually, I realized I had less and less time to write. My focus had shifted and I’d lost my momentum. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to continue. I went so far as to tell my husband of my decision. Of course, I couldn’t NOT write, I’d perish. I simply wouldn’t send my work out. Not anymore. And I had decided years before that I wouldn’t publish my own work. No, I was going the traditional route – with the hundreds of rejections that come with it. In my mind, I was done.

Then I received an email with a tip about an acquisitions editor with a well-known publisher who might be interested in my work. How could I not follow up. And yes, he said two of my novels sounded ‘exciting’ and I should send the full mss. When I never heard back after several months, I tried contacting him. He’d left the publisher. The End. My last hurrah.

Another email arrived suggesting I collaborate on an anthology with two other Canadian authors and two from the States. Our Plan to Save the World features four of my short stories. My last hurrah.

Then another email arrived informing me of a contest in the U.S. I placed second and am proud to be included in the anthology Suspicious Activity. My last hurrah? Maybe not.

Aside from a health glitch, the year 2018 has been gratifying. I look to the positive, or at least try, and am thankful for the goodness in my life. 

In 2019, I will continue to enjoy our community neighbourhood and pursue promising friendships. I look forward to summer verandah lounging with our park friends just a little farther north. 

As for writing, I have set a goal (oh no, not a goal) to finish a novel. It will be a huge challenge to pick up the thread dropped so long ago. But I’m sure the love for my characters will see me through.

I look forward to 2019 with renewed vigour and hope. There’s a touch of determination peeking through, as well. I feel good. I feel strong. I feel like writing.

Happy New Year!